


kinktober day 6

by Sang_argente



Series: kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, First Time, M/M, Neglected Stiles Stilinski, Stilinski Family Feels, Underage Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sang_argente/pseuds/Sang_argente
Summary: By the time Stiles was fourteen, people had stopped asking questions. He got used to ghosting around town and living his life unacknowledged.Maybe that was why Peter sets him on edge.





	kinktober day 6

Sometimes people remembered that Stiles's mom was dead. It was largely ignored since none of them had a full set of healthy, engaged parents other than Erica. But sometimes- when Stiles was cooking dinner for the pack or doing Derek's laundry or explaining how to manage money to Scott- there would be a sudden hush like the entire room had remembered that Stiles only knew how to do those things because his mom died when he was barely ten. The whole town was aware of the Sheriff's drinking problems at the time but no one really knew how rough Stiles had it accept Scott and, surprisingly, Jackson.

Scott knew because for almost two years Stiles basically lived with the McCalls until he got better at lying. Jackson knew because he came over shortly after the funeral to bring Stiles some cookies. Sure, he'd always been a little prick but nobody understood how much Stiles loved his parents like Jackson. They both had the same fear of abandonment, they both grabbed and held with everything in them. 

When Stiles started showing back up at school in clean clothes with lunch money and no bruises under his eyes, everyone just assumed the Sheriff had gotten better. After all, he was hard at work almost every day and night. Stiles still doesn't understand how no one realized that if the Sheriff was at work he wasn't at home. But in the minds of the town, it was over. The Stilinski’s were moving on.

The thing was, they didn't. Things never got better. Sheriff Stilinski stayed at work for days on end and Stiles taught himself how to cook and clean and pay the bills. He washed his own laundry and made his lunch money helping around town. He learned how to drive on his own and forged signatures on all his paperwork. He made his own appointments and picked up his own prescriptions.

By the time Stiles was fourteen, people had stopped asking questions. He got used to ghosting around town and living his life unacknowledged.

Maybe that was why Peter sets him on edge. 

When the older werewolf first came back from the dead, he poked and prodded at Stiles with his usual banter. That somehow transformed into actual conversations. Then there were the questions. Was he sleeping? Was it at least eight hours? Was he eating? Was it healthy? Did he need help researching? Did he understand his homework? Did he want to go see that new Spiderman movie? 

Then Peter started with the presents. A new jacket when the weather turned, new tires when harpies shredded the ones on the Jeep, dinner from Vito’s when Stiles didn't have grocery money. It was all regular stuff that, while unexpected from Peter of all people, Stiles was grateful for.

He returned the favor by keeping a pair of sunglasses in the Jeep, bringing Peter coffee when it was a research night, and asking for help with his history homework. Stiles knew how much Peter wanted to be needed and he was perfectly willing to give that illusion. Maybe he had laid it on a bit thick when he'd asked for a wardrobe makeover. He'd got a glimpse of calculation before Peter covered it up with bland pleasure and accepted.

They were out on that shopping adventure when things changed.

“This one,” Peter suggested. He held up a dark red button up with a subtle gold pinstripe. “A bit much for everyday wear, I admit, but it does wonders for your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Stiles asks, confused. He looked at the shirt and shrugged. He didn't really understand how the shirt was going to accentuate his plain brown eyes, but Peter knew best. He was so caught up in his thoughts that the hand on his face startled him. He snapped his head up to find Peter smiling down at him.

Peter hummed and swiped his thumb under the curve of Stiles's eye socket. “They're very beautiful. I'm sure you've gotten many comparisons to amber but in the right light...they're almost wolf gold.”

Heat rose in Stiles's cheeks and he ducked his head. “Should I go try it on?”

“Absolutely,” Peter said. “Take the rest as well. I'll wait right here.”

The compliment rattled Stiles so bad that he forgot to even berate Peter for paying for his new clothes. He went home and put the clothes away and forgot all about that gentle caress until the pack's annual Christmas party.

He pulled it out and threw on a black velvet waistcoat ignoring the memory of Peter fawning over his trim waist. It's paired with dark slim fit jeans and black peacoat before he slips on a pair of low heeled ankle boots with gold buckles. That appraising look of Peter's had appeared again when Stiles had shyly sat those in the cart, but he hadn't said anything rude. He had simply nodded in approval before they continued on their way.

That look is what Stiles holds in his mind as he enters the rebuilt Hale house. Of course, it's completely blown away by Erica's wolf whistle.

“Looking good, Stilinski!” She said with a predatory grin.

Everyone else's reactions are similar except for Jackson who simply snorts and shakes his head and Lydia who raises her eyebrow at his boots.

“Excuse me,” Stiles murmured. He wanted to get as far away as possible before Lydia shared her observations with the whole room. 

It was as he turned into the kitchen that he ran into Peter. Before he could fall, two firm hands grasped his upper arms.

“Stiles,” Peter greeted, amused. He took in the outfit the boy was wearing and sighed. “Don't you look lovely.” 

Stiles's head snapped up to reveal sparkling eyes and pink cheeks. “You think so?”

Wolf blue flashed in Peter's eyes. “Oh, yes. In fact, I think so very much. I also think we should leave immediately.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, confused. “I just got here.”

Peter slid a hand down Stiles's arm until he could reach his hand. He tangled his fingers over Stiles's and placed the boy's on his nearling throbbing erection.

“Oh!” Stiles's eyes fluttered.

“Now, Stiles.”

***  
Twenty minutes to Peter's apartment was hell on Stiles's nerves. He was almost shaking by the time Peter pulled him into his bedroom.

“Peter,” he whined. “Peter, please.”

There was a quiet growl and then Stiles was on his back on the bed.

“Look at you. So soft and sweet and in my bed,” Peter said heatedly. He kneeled over Stiles and started working on the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. When he finally reached the skin underneath, he sighed. Pale pink nipples were soon covered by his thumbs as he played with them.

Stiles cried out and brought his hands up to Peter's shirt. He tugged on the fabric and pouted.

“You, too. Please.”

“Good things come to those who wait,” Peter said with a smirk until he caught sight of the hurt blooming across Stiles's face. “But you did say please.”

Stiles nodded furiously. “I did.”

“Very well,” Peter said.

He then proceeded to strip both of them of all their clothes. He tore at his own with claws and wiggled free. With Stiles he took the time to carefully unzip his boots and slip them off, slide his jeans down his hips, peel his boxer briefs off, and slip his arms out of his shirt and waistcoat.

“Look at you,” Peter said for the second time that night. This time, instead of hunger, Stiles heard only longing. He traces Stiles's ribs with the pads of his fingers. “I have wanted this...wanted you for...so long.”

“So have me."

Peter took a shaky breath and shot him a look. “Say please.”

“Please,” Stiles repeated obediently. “Please, have me, Peter. Only you.”

“This is your first time. As such, I think we'll start slow.” Peter shot Stiles another considering look. “Thank me for being so considerate.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Peter nodded and started to work. He gave Stiles a kiss, soft and lingering that he led down the boy's body. There were some detours to his nipples where he sucked and nipped until they were red and swollen and to his hip bones where he pressed bruises into the skin around his kisses. He laid hickeys on the insides of Stiles's thighs and soft, ticklish licks behind his knees and around his ankles. He kissed each toe quickly before venturing back up the way he came. When he reached Stiles's cock, he smiled up at him.

“Say please.”

Tears rose in Stiles's eyes. “Please, Peter.”

Peter smiled, his wolf teeth on full display. A soft tongue slid over the top of Stiles's cock and around the head. It traced the bare hint of Stiles's testicles and then Peter sucked them into his mouth, one at a time. He stopped when he smelled blood in the air.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Peter crooned, taking in the site of Stiles's bitten lip. He decided to take pity on the boy. “Roll over.”

He moved to give Stiles some room and also to grab the lube out of the nightstand. He watched the slight twitches as Stiles caught the sound of the lube being poured over Peter's fingers. When he reached out to spread Stiles's legs, he was surprised that the smallest touch caused the boy to pull himself open. Virginal, he mused, but desperate.

“Stiles. You can say no.”

Stiles turned to meet Peter's eyes over his shoulder and gave him a shaky, yet determined smile.

“Please, Peter.”

Peter groaned and slid two fingers deep inside Stiles's hole. He wasn't fooled like other members of the pack. He knew his senses and no flailing, babbling darling was going to cover up the smell of lube and plastic and anticipation. Stiles was well versed in anal play, if only with himself, and Peter intended on taking advantage of it.

“Tell me when you're ready,” he said as he pressed against Stiles's prostate.

Stiles whined. “Another. Please, Peter.”

Peter dug his claws into the bedspread and rose on his knees with Stiles, as if the third finger battering on his prostate was pulling him into the air. Draping himself over Stiles's back, Peter mouthed at his sweaty neck in a mimicry of his true desires. He accidentally bit into the tender skin and Stiles wailed.

“Now, please, Peter. I'm ready, please, now, now."

And how was Peter supposed to be able to resist that? He wasn't, he reassured himself as he guided his dick into Stiles and began thrusting.

“Fuck! Sweetheart, fuck, you feel so good. So tight, baby, love it.”

“Love it,” Stiles repeated, throwing his head back. “Love you.”

Peter hissed in victory. This was what he wanted. This is what he had waited and planned and fought for. Stiles was his, his darling, his mate.

“Love you, too, Stiles,” He grunted. Not the most romantic of confessions but he couldn't leave his poor insecure mate waiting. “So much, fuck, let me show you.”

“Please,” Stiles begged. When Peter wrapped his hand around Stiles's cock and started biting at his neck with more force, he came unglued. “Oh! Yes, please, more, please, Daddy!”

A snarl came from deep in Peter's chest and he couldn't hold it in any longer. His fangs dropped and his claws slid out and everything had that peculiar blue haze over it that signalled his wolf eyes were out.

“Yes,” Peter slurred through his fangs. “Fuck, yes, baby. Gonna give you all, make you take it. Mine!”

Stiles sobbed into the pillow as Peter pounded on his prostate. He couldn't hold himself up anymore but he didn't care. He knew Peter would take care of him.

“Daddy, please, give it to me. Please, daddy, let me come. Bite me, mate me, make me come. Daddy, please!”

Clawed fingers tickled over the tip of his dick, the tip of one just barely sinking into the slit, and fangs cut into the meat of his shoulder. Colors exploded across his vision before everything faded to bright blinding white. He could hear himself crying and screaming and begging but he couldn't stop, even when he knew he was getting exactly what he asked for.

It wasn't til much later, after the sweat and come had dried and stuck to their bodies, that Stiles finally came back to himself.

“That was- I can't- Please-"

A rumbling growl and a tightening arm around his waist cut him off. Peter was exhausted and wanted to get his sleep so they could do all this tomorrow.

“Say thank you, Stiles.”

There was a long pause but Peter could hear the uptick in Stiles's heartbeat and didn't worry. When Stiles finally spoke, shy, he simply pulled him close and dropped a kiss on his neck.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart. Now sleep.”

“Yes, Daddy. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> god this took forever i'm so sorry.
> 
> [tumblr.](http://delicatesammy.tumblr.com)


End file.
